I've been talking to myself alot, lately.
Strangely, that doesn't bother me as much as I think it should. I mean, I know that I'm at least slightly deranged and that of my many psychological disorders and miscellaneous neuroses, paranoia and lack of true mental backbone reign supreme, but I'd never actually thought of myself of being someone with the right background to warrant schizophrenia. Sure, I had more imaginary friends than real ones for twelve years of my life, and sure they never actually packed up and went off to wherever it is that imaginary friends vanish to when you don't need them anymore, and sure, my ideas and stories sometimes physically manifest themselves in my brain with an urgent need for dialogue, but that doesn't mean I'm schizophrenic, right? No, I'm pretty sure that it just means that I'm one of those run of the mill, court-issued psychos with a lower medication rate than most. If it weren't for all the medication they make you take, I'd love to live in a mental institution. I would rule the entire place. But I hear that nuthouses take away pens and paper, so as long as I walk this lovely little blue-green ball, I'm going to try to stay out of the crazy bin. Shove pills down my throat, I don't care. Make me live with people that make my mother look normal, go for it. But take away all things used for writing?
Oh, fuck you.
Seriously, I need to reign in my little voices and start concentrating more on school. I really need to write my evolution versus creationism thesis paper for english, or I will fail.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Why should I worry? I have street savoire faire
Yeah, I'm worried.
About a relationship, of all things.
It's insane; two months ago, I'd never even met A. Now, he's nearly all I ever think about. I'm slowly coming out of my responds with violence, never acts like a girl mentality (though I'm nowhere near the stage when I start looking at makeup as if it were a good idea) and embracing the fact that yeah, I don't look like total crap in a skirt. And yet, I fear that its too late.
I really don't think A likes me that much anymore. I mean, its always up to me to call him if I want to talk or hang out, we spend as much time together as Bush and Cheney who are, as required by Constitutional law, never in the same state, and while I know that he was off looking for his friends that were supposed to be there, it still hurt that A totally ditched me at Librarations this weekend. I don't want to have to break up with him, but I'd really prefer to do it before its done to me. I'm on a pretty good never-been-dumped streak and damnit, I refuse to let it be broken by the one guy I might actually cry over. Really cry, not just make a little crying emoticon. In the real world.
Another thing that worries me: I am very turned on by one of the guys on American Gladiator. No, not that adorable Asian contestant who is ever-so wiley, but Wolf, one of the gladiators. Maybe its the wolf-calls, maybe its the hair, maybe its the fact that he's the only one that doesn't seem to be on steroids. I'm not quite sure what it is, but all I know is that for some reason, he totally makes my engines go VRUM vrum vrum vrum. Heh, sorry. I really didn't mean to be that crude. And I really hope I didn't just coin a phrase or something. But, ahem, yes, I am having relationship problems. Erk!
I am going to shut my eyes and when I open them once more, there will NOT be a picture of Don "Wolf" Yates on my desktop background. Because I didn't put it there. The Powers That Be are obviously at work again, screwing with my delicate hormones.
Damnit. That's my story and I'm damned well sticking to it.
About a relationship, of all things.
It's insane; two months ago, I'd never even met A. Now, he's nearly all I ever think about. I'm slowly coming out of my responds with violence, never acts like a girl mentality (though I'm nowhere near the stage when I start looking at makeup as if it were a good idea) and embracing the fact that yeah, I don't look like total crap in a skirt. And yet, I fear that its too late.
I really don't think A likes me that much anymore. I mean, its always up to me to call him if I want to talk or hang out, we spend as much time together as Bush and Cheney who are, as required by Constitutional law, never in the same state, and while I know that he was off looking for his friends that were supposed to be there, it still hurt that A totally ditched me at Librarations this weekend. I don't want to have to break up with him, but I'd really prefer to do it before its done to me. I'm on a pretty good never-been-dumped streak and damnit, I refuse to let it be broken by the one guy I might actually cry over. Really cry, not just make a little crying emoticon. In the real world.
Another thing that worries me: I am very turned on by one of the guys on American Gladiator. No, not that adorable Asian contestant who is ever-so wiley, but Wolf, one of the gladiators. Maybe its the wolf-calls, maybe its the hair, maybe its the fact that he's the only one that doesn't seem to be on steroids. I'm not quite sure what it is, but all I know is that for some reason, he totally makes my engines go VRUM vrum vrum vrum. Heh, sorry. I really didn't mean to be that crude. And I really hope I didn't just coin a phrase or something. But, ahem, yes, I am having relationship problems. Erk!
I am going to shut my eyes and when I open them once more, there will NOT be a picture of Don "Wolf" Yates on my desktop background. Because I didn't put it there. The Powers That Be are obviously at work again, screwing with my delicate hormones.
Damnit. That's my story and I'm damned well sticking to it.
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